What my father never told me.

As long as I can remember, I have been fighting with my physical self, i.e., my body. As a young kid, I was always envious and in awe of my school mates, who excelled in physical sports & athletics. I had a friend who did like 100 meters in 14 seconds.

I always wondered why I could not run as fast as him. Once in school, a friend hit me on my back so hard; I had difficulty breathing, (it was just a game, like the first person who spots, will hit or something). I wondered what kind of strength he had. (He was a Muslim). Again one guy in school, almost caught me by my neck and lifted me in the air (or so I thought). No I wasn’t bullied as somehow I had the school bullies as friends, but these were some instances as growing up, I felt the physical powers of others.

Constant sickness, be it a stomach bug or sore throats and skin allergies were my favorite companions. Now I see my physical illness as a gift, not as a disease. I try to listen to my “body intelligence”. I don’t even listen to my mind. If my body says it can do something, I will do it. Otherwise, I won’t. It’s what you call “gut instinct.”

So I welcome any physical ailments like I would appreciate a teacher and learn from it, the lessons she wants to teach you. My life probably doesn’t need me to run the 100-metre race in under 14 seconds or do a full marathon. Maybe my life needs a little bit of sickness to make me rest a bit and appreciate all that that I have loved and lost.